The Crippling Terrors (Tracking Ever Nearer Book 1)

by Jeff Vrolyks

  “To be honest,” she said, “it’s a little weird having a date ten minutes after meeting you, a stranger, at a store. Don’t mothers usually warn their children about taking candy from strangers, getting lured into a van, or going on random lunch dates with guys you just met?”

  “Not at all. My mother told me that when you run into someone—especially at CVS—it would be a huge mistake not to have lunch with them. Besides, I’m one of the good guys. It’s been weeks since I’ve owned a windowless van laden with candy.”

  She subdued her smiling lip with a bite. “You do seem like a harmless guy, but I thought I should tell you that I’m usually more cautious than this.”

  “Wait, did you say date?” She nodded. “This is just lunch and me thanking you for saying what you did to that lady. That lady,” I mused. My train of thought derailed.

  “That lady?”

  “Uh… that lady was rude.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s nothing. I had a lot of pain medicine yesterday. I think it’s still affecting me. Did you see her standing next to my truck when you pulled up?”

  “No.” She then stared vacantly out the window.

  Just no? No follow up question? I thought she would find it peculiar.

  “No I didn’t,” she repeated thinly.

  “Hello, guys. Welcome to the Down Under. Can I get you two started off with a strawberry daiquiri or beer?”

  “Iced Tea, please.”

  I ordered a Fosters on tap. Large size, please. I fetched my driver’s license and handed it to her.

  While setting the table she rambled on and on; about what I didn’t care and wasn’t in the mood to pay her any attention. I lost my appetite for everything but Holly and the waitress was interfering with my getting to know her. She finally left us alone with the promise to interfere again shortly. Holly chewed a fingernail thoughtfully, probably unaware she was doing it. She finally said, “It’s just a little strange now that I think about it. That lady had to be two people ahead of me in line, because the person in front of me went to the other counter.” I nodded. “I was in line for at least fifteen minutes, plenty enough time to have noticed who was ahead of me. I don’t remember who was in front of the guy in front of me, but I’m sure it wasn’t her. I wouldn’t forget a mug like that. Maybe she cut in line, I don’t know. Its nothing,” she said dismissively. “When you brought her name up by your truck, you—”

  A young man interrupted her by dropping off in transit two glasses of water.

  “When I mentioned her name what?”

  “I guess I got weirded out. Just forget it.” Content to leave it at that, she shifted gears and smiled. “So what do you do in the Air Force, Mr. Kevin?”

  “I’m a KC-135 crew chief, a refueling aircraft. It’s just a temporary thing, I get out in two weeks and then I’m starting college this fall.”

  “I only asked if were in the Air Force earlier because almost everyone around here our age is, and you don’t really look like a flyboy.”

  “Ya, I hate it. Everyone despises military people around here because the few idiotic ones give the rest of us a bad name.”

  “Not at all. There are way more assholes around here who aren’t in the Air force than are.” Holly glanced around, grateful that Alison wasn’t around to point out her contradiction.

  Her words took a load off my shoulders. At least I wouldn’t be denied based on my job. “How about yourself—what do you do? Something with music obviously.”

  “I manage a band, going on three years now. I’m pretty sure it’s not a career, though. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I grew up wanting to be a veterinarian but I don’t think I’m smart enough. I’m twenty-two, so I should probably start taking some classes soon. I don’t want to start college when I’m old: flirting my way from a C to an A won’t be as easy then.” She put the straw from her recently delivered iced tea in her mouth and winked at me.

  “What makes you think you could pull it off at twenty-two?” If a friendship between us stood a chance, she would have to accept my humor.

  “Touché,” she said impressively.

  “So, what band do you manage and how did you get that gig?”

  “My brother is in a band. VonFurenz,” she said plainly, as if she were managing a garage band or a local dive-bar band.

  “Really? Wow, I was just reading a Rolling Stone that someone left inside a flight-deck and there was an article about them. Kloss VonFuren, he’s the singer, right?”

  “Yep. It’s so weird, everyone I meet has already met my brother, so to speak. I know that sounds silly, but I’ll never get used to it. It’s hard to believe how quickly they became mainstream.” She took a sip of her tea. I concealed my astonishment, donned my no-big-whoop mask. “It still freaks me out hearing him sing on the radio. Before Animal Instinct played on the radio every hour, my life was somewhat normal. Now it’s crazy. With three music videos out, and him playing on Leno and Letterman, people recognize him everywhere we go. It makes me uncomfortable, like people might stalk him. Or worse. We were at the mall a few months ago and this freak with a mohawk and makeup charged at us. I thought he was going to attack us. It scared the hell out of me. He just wanted an autograph. I miss the days when Kloss was only recognized by people around Vacaville. I try not to, but I can’t help it: I worry about him so much. I probably shouldn’t, he can take care of himself, but he’s my brother and I love him to death. He’s all the family I have left.”

  I was in no hurry to inject myself into the conversation. She was already the most interesting person I had ever met. I gave an occasional nod and hoped she would talk through lunch and into dinner. She must have realized she was doing most of the talking because I sensed that she was about to veer the topic onto me. So I preempted her. “All the family you have?”

  She nodded. “No other siblings. Parents passed away when I was two. Kloss and I were raised by our grandmother. She passed away a few years ago.” She gazed out the window and sighed. “He’s been getting death threats. I answered the phone on a few of them.” She stirred her iced-tea. “He said he hasn’t gotten one in six months, but if you knew Kloss you’d know he would say anything to keep me from worrying. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. After prolonged silence, our eyes met. “Look at me rambling on, telling a near-stranger my personal problems.”

  “Don’t think of me as a stranger. I wanted to get to know you and I think I already know more about you than I do Mike.” She mirrored my playful expression. “I know how you feel, being alone.” She patronized me with a nod. I knew it must have sounded cliché. How could I relate to being a sibling of a celebrity?

  “I do have Mike, and even though I’m an only-child he is my adopted brother as far as I am concerned. My parents both passed away as well. I never met my father. He left my mom before I was born. I tried looking him up a few years back and learned he died a few years before that. My mom was in a car accident.” I paused to contemplate the extent of detail I was comfortable disclosing. “I know what it’s like worrying about losing the only people you have. I think about what would happen if I lost Mike and it depresses me. Probably not a normal thing to brood over, wondering if your best friend is going to die, but I had a childhood friend who drowned in the Sacramento River. It seems like death follows me around.” I immediately regretted my poor choice of words. I was trying to attract her, not instill in her the probability of a premature death by associating with me.

  “I know what you mean,” Holly said. “When my sist—” She ceased mid-sentence and instead asked, “How old were you when your mom died?”

  “Thirteen.” I fixed a heavy gaze at the straw wrapper I was playing with mindlessly. “They determined that it was probably suicide. She went out of her way to crash into a wall. A wall that wasn’t anywhere near the road. I don’t know if I believe that. I don’t know what to think. She was
a good mom. A really good mother. Nah, I don’t think she hit the wall on purpose. If she was depressed or something, maybe. She was a happy person, gave me constant affection. For her to do that, for her to kill herself, she would have to hate me… to leave me alone.”

  She put my hand in hers. “I’m sure it was just an accident. It happens.” She left the conversation open for me to continue.

  “God, I haven’t thought about her accident in a long time. Suppressed that memory pretty well, I guess.”

  “That’s so sad. I can’t imagine going through that all alone. I don’t know how you did it.”

  “After she died I moved in with a friend. He had a really cool mom. She adopted me.” I took a hard swallow of Fosters. “In a lot of ways the accident changed me. Thirteen is too young to be bitter, but I was thoroughly cynical for a long time, worsened by my friend Alex drowning shortly after. A year after Mom, Chesterton died—my childhood cat who meant the world to me. I dwelled on the idea that at anytime, anyone could die for whatever reason. Why get close to someone if they’re just going to die? Like they say, time heals all wounds and I got over it. Lesson learned, you take the good with the bad. Good thing, too, because otherwise I’d be afraid to get to know you better.” I finished off my first Fosters with a greedy pull.

  “It’s funny to hear you say that,” she said solemnly. “Well, it’s not funny, that was a poor choice of words. But I’ve thought the same thing hundreds of times, about getting close to people. Not as often anymore. But isn’t it depressing to know that when you love someone, someday either you will die or they will die, but either way you will be torn apart whether you like it or not? It’s only a matter of time. The Grim Reaper is a patient guy. Time is on his side. He can afford to be patient because he always gets his way.” Again she stared unseeingly out the window. “Depressing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah it is. That very thought consumed me for years. I would think if I never let myself get close to people, I’d never get hurt. I would be fine just having a dog or a cat for companionship. But damnit, pets die eventually too! And much more frequently! And you’re right about Time. Time is the biggest killer of them all, because nobody in history has ever survived it. You referred to the Grim Reaper and Time as if they are two separate things, two variables in the same formula. But what I’ve concluded is that Time is Death. But you know what?—since it’s something we all have to go through, we’d be remiss not to make the best of it, milk it for all it’s worth. Fall head over heels in love with the understanding that love, just like life, is a limited engagement and we need to express our love accordingly. When a sobbing housewife at a Navy port waves a final goodbye to her war-time soldier, future unknown, you can bet your ass that they poured the contents of their hearts out beforehand. And the night before he shipped off to war?—that night wasn’t like any other night they’ve shared. It was filled with an immense passion; a kind of passion that you and I will never know. It’s a shame, too. If only we lived like we were dying, like that song says.”

  “This is the strangest first date I’ve ever had.”

  “Granted, it’s strange,” I said, “but I feel comfortable speaking my mind to you. And we just so happen to have a lot in common in the realm of misfortune. Maybe we should change the subject. How about that fat Mexican Mike. Mike is the funniest guy I know, and he doesn’t try to be funny. He’s hapless and clumsy and thinks he’s someone he’s not. He’s impossible to dislike, like an enormous puppy.”

  Holly laughed. “That abomination is also a fat Mexican? I take offense to that, Kevin. I’m Mexican. My parents were born in Tijuana.”

  I shook my head. “You’re the whitest person I’ve ever seen. Your parents might have been June and Ward Cleaver, or the Haskell’s, but no way were they Mr. and Mrs. Lopez.”

  She laughed again, a charming musical laugh. “Okay, you got me. I’m not Mexican. I’m from the Netherlands.”

  “Yeah,” I mused, “I can see that, you being Dutch. I doubt you would get confused for an Egyptian or Jamaican. Am I right?”

  “Never. Usually its either Nigerian or Eskimo.”

  Our serious conversation had turned silly. “Mike’s actually from Thailand, but everyone assumes he’s Mexican because his skin is dark. People speak Spanish to him. He hates it. Not that he has anything against Mexicans, he just hates that people group everyone with brown skin in the same category. He tells people that Mexicans don’t come in his size.” I sipped my new beer, comforted by the gleam in her eye and warm smile. She was officially out of her sullen funk.

  “So, were you born in Holland, Holly?” I reveled in my corny witticism, and then realized I probably lost a dozen cool points by saying that.

  “Yes. I lived there until I was seven. Then Kloss and I moved to our grandma’s in Washington. Then we moved to Oregon a couple years after that. And then my grandma bought a house in Vacaville and I’ve been here ever since. I don’t plan on ever moving from here. I’ve done enough moving for one lifetime, thank you.”

  “Why did you move so much?”

  “After my parents died we lived with my aunt and uncle and cousins in Rotterdam. Once our two cousins went off to college, it was just Kloss and I with my aunt and uncle. My aunt had advanced breast cancer and wasn’t going to be around much longer, so my uncle decided he didn’t want to finish raising us alone, even though Kloss was thirteen by then.” There was a little bitterness there. “So our grandma agreed to take us and we moved to the United States.”

  “What a childhood,” I said. “How was it living with Grandma?”

  “She was okay when we moved to Seattle. Grandpa had passed away before I was born and he left grandma a lot of money. So when she got tired of living in the same place she had the money to move wherever she wanted. She had a lot of health issues and took pain medications because of them. Her brain marinated in those drugs for years and they took a heavy toll. She became weird around the time we moved to Oregon. By the time we moved to Vacaville she was in La-La land. The grandma I knew was gone, and some weird lady was living inside her. When she died a few years ago it wasn’t as hard on me as I thought it would be. I guess I made my peace with her dying years before it happened. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a cold-hearted ingrate. I loved her. But if you saw what she turned into, you’d understand.”

  “I can see why you’re so close to your brother. You two went through a lot together.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him.”

  I was so immersed in our conversation that I hadn’t noticed our waiter returned and politely waited for us to finish conversing. We gave our orders, but what we ordered didn’t matter because we didn’t eat. We poked at our food as we discussed subject after subject, most of it far too personal for people who just met. I am a cautiously reserved guy, but my wall came down with Holly. I let her inside uncharted territory. It was clear that I found a very special friend (if nothing else) in her.

  It’s strange how attraction works. I was first hypnotized by her beauty. Things evolved rapidly. Her appearance soon took a back seat to her personality. The more she revealed the more I wanted to learn. I was captivated. She was an equally good listener. She asked me atypical questions out of genuine interest. It quickly became the best day of my life.

  She insisted on splitting the check. We walked out of the restaurant drunk, not on suds but on each other. We meandered toward our cars, reluctant for the day-date to be over. We would probably see each other again, but when everything is going perfectly it’s hard to pull the plug on it. She unlocked her car and looked at me, unsure of what to say. Her face said it all: she had a great time.

  “I’m so glad we met,” I said. “I wish it wasn’t over so quickly. Can we do this again sometime?” And by sometime I meant can we do this again for dinner and then breakfast and then for every meal for the rest of our lives? She didn’t respond, but instead reached in her car for a napkin and pen and jotted down her numb
er.

  “I’m glad we met, too. Since we’ve been so honest with each other, I won’t feel bad telling you I’ve never had an enjoyable date with an Air Force guy. This was my first, and I’m at a loss for words. This was delightfully unusual.”

  “I’m glad you gave me a chance. It’s probably why you don’t have a boyfriend, living in a town that is half Air Force.”

  She grinned sidelong. “I can’t believe I forgot about Seth. We have a date tomorrow night.”

  My heart sank. She had to be kidding. How could anyone forget something like that? “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’ve only been on three dates with him, don’t worry.” She smiled and I then knew I wouldn’t worry. She got in her car saying, “You don’t even have to wait the customary three days to call me. For you I’ll answer on day two.” Her key turned the ignition. Loud music exploded out of the cabin. She turned it off.

  “What was that?”

  “Johann Sebastian Bach. I’m a closet classical music junkie.” She jocularly whispered, “Don’t tell anyone.” She closed her door and rolled down the window. “I have to pretend to like only VonFurenz. But my true love is classical music. It’s soul food.” She put her car in reverse and winked at me. “Drive safe, hun.”

  I waved, crying invisible tears of happiness.

  Chapter 5

  I don’t recall the drive back to my apartment. I lived out the rest of my life with Holly in a ten minute drive. There were three kids, a dog, a pale yellow house with a low white fence.

  I parked my truck in its reserved spot, went up the stairs to my humble apartment. On an Air Force salary it was typical. A bachelor pad, complete with an empty beer keg as a TV stand and Christmas lights framing the corners of the room. My artistic taste went as far as having a few Salvador Dali posters—their lack of a frame diminishing whatever sophistication they hoped to accomplish. I didn’t take pride in my apartment and planned on leaving the area after my military obligation was met. The one thing that mattered in that small apartment was my Marshall half-stack amplifier and my vintage Kramer guitar. I would be content with just a bed, a fridge, and my guitar setup; the rest was fodder. Upon entering the apartment, reborn from my encounter, I thought I might like to give it a make-over.